


Under the Stars

by letitrainathousandflames



Series: Clone Smut [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Porn With Plot, Wolffe/Reader, because i'm unable to write raw smut apparently, princess reader oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:12:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letitrainathousandflames/pseuds/letitrainathousandflames
Summary: The princess of an inner-rim neutral planet (reader) is to attend a royal gala, where she meets Commander Wolffe, assigned to watch over her and collect intel from the separatists guests. There's dance, there's talk and the night slowly turns into something more...





	Under the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepseaCritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepseaCritter/gifts).



> This is an explicit smut (sex) fic, kiddos, be warned.

You tug at your dress, fixing the straps made of stringed pearls. The rich, light blue velvet dress drapes graciously on your body, and you fix the small, delicate black crystal necklace on your neck, stopping to look at yourself in the mirror.

Tomo-Reth, your homeworld, is in a complicated situation. Threatened by the Separatists and without the aid of the Republic, the King, your eldest brother decided to appeal to the Jedi for their help weeks prior to a ball in which the Separatists negotiators – men acting under Dooku’s command – would approach with new “proposals”, which was their way of saying “threats”. Your brother had grown especially concerned for both the lives of you, his wife’s and his own, on the possibility of the Separatists sending assassins to end your lives and take over your planet.

Jedi General Plo Koon had taken the matter in his hands, and as he took a knee in front of you and your brother promising to help, he also introduced you to his men, brave clone troopers. They were, Koon had said, under the charge of a commander who answered to the name “Wolffe”. Even now you still remember Wolffe pulling off his white helmet painted with grey details showing his tan skin, the tall cheekbones and hollow cheeks, a strong jawline and a wide scar over his right eye. That was most impressive about him, the left brown eye with a hint of hazel contrasting with the right milky white one, which seemed to be prosthetic. He nodded courtly as one should when introduced to royalty, but he didn’t smile. In fact, the entire time he seemed to be mildly angry at something, so much you believed that to just be his default expression.

His men had taken their helmets as well out of respect for you, and they all had his face too, of course, but you could feel something about Wolffe that made him different from the others, different from anybody else. And it wasn’t the scar. You shake your head, pushing the memory away and standing in the hall to meet your brother, the King and his wife, the Queen.

“There you are.” Your brother said, his wife smiling at you with a hand on his arm “Come, sister. We’ll meet them now. Don’t worry. The jedi master and his men are scattered amongst the other guests. We’ll be safe.”

You walk downstairs behind your brother and his wife as everyone stands on their feet and turn around to greet him with a round of applause. Few bother to acknowledge you right behind him – all eyes are always on the king.

Except a pair of uneven eyes, white and brown, that seem to be fixated only on you.

Wolffe. He looks at you wide-eyed, for the first time not wearing that expression of constant anger and arrogance. He wears a slim-cut black jacket, a light grey short cape over his shoulders just about the length of his elbows and grey trousers. Those are covered down to above his knees with a black kama (finished by a dark leather hem, like his cape), while his boots of a rich dark brown shade ended just about two inches from his knees.

The entire ensemble was gorgeous, clearly inspired by Mandalorian fashion with a few modern twists. Anyone who’d mistake the clone commander by a member of the Mandalore’s royalty couldn’t be blamed. As a matter of fact, that was part of the plan. General Kenobi even had planted false intel here and there of an alleged distant cousin of the death watch lieutenant Bo-Katan Kryze, sister to the reigning duchess of Mandalore. As far as anyone willing to listen to the gossip, that was Wolffe Kryze. Satine was kept in the dark about this – she would not like to know that her name was being used to set spies in the court to gather intel against the separatists.

You take a few instants to realize that you’re off your brother’s pace down the stairs, and you pry your eyes away from Wolffe, walking downstairs at once. You meet and compliment all the people by your brother’s and his wife’s side. Same boring formalities, until Wolffe stops in front of you and your brother, bowing down and politely complimenting them. When he looks at you, however…

“You Majesty.”

His face could’ve been carved in stone, but his eyes seem to burn at you. It’s like the whole halls grew dim around him and all you can see is Wolffe. And his eyes. His eyes that say avidly, hungrily, _I want you_. You feel nervousness setting in your stomach, but you raise your chin up. You know how to make a pose, how to seem collected. So you smile at him, a small smile that contrasts with your equally hungry eyes. That seems to make him unsettled. Good.

“Your Highness.”

The tension lasts as you look into his eyes, your gaze now at his broad scar. What kind of life has this men led so far? How had he earned the wound? Why did he look permanently annoyed until the moment he’d lay his eyes on you? But then Wolffe lowers his eyes and steps back respectfully, and you are left to be complimented by the rest of the Inner-Rim royalty and other important people, losing sight of Wolffe in the crowd.

Much later, bored out of your mind of the dull conversations with the dukes and representatives of Separatist-alligned planets insisting on the advantages of taking count Dooku’s side in the war, you roam around the room as the couples danced, refusing one or three overly excited men who asked you for a dance. You retreat to a less crowded corner, taking a sip of wine and placing the half-empty glass on a nearby table, looking around for any of the faces about which you had been warned – the Umbaran representative who’d be there in order to try and convince your brother to join the Separatist cause, for example. There were plenty of people who had been under charges of war crimes by the republic there, but as a neutral planet, it was your brother’s duty to have open doors to all of them, especially if you wanted to gain the Republic’s protection gathering intel...

A shadow falls over you when a tall man stands before you, nodding politely to then offer you a hand.

“May I have the honor of this dance, your highness?”

Wolffe. His voice is really low and raspy, but his tone is almost defying. Few men would dare to speak to royalty like this, and even fewer would be forgiven for doing so. You think about making some clever joke, to throw some of your charm at him, but you draw a blank. Instead, you raise your hand to his, and he kisses it, looking up to you. Those eyes are full of dark promises, and the touch of his lips on your skin makes you shiver. How does he manage to make you feel such intense emotions with so little?

He places his hand on the smaller of your back, and you reach your – not quite steady – hand to his arm. Then he pulls you into an effortless dance, his feet moving graciously as he guides you through the room.

“I’m was not expected to dance with a clone trooper.” you say not quite sure why, regretting your words as soon as you see how rude they sound

“Commander.” Wolffe growls back to then recompose his posture, adding “Your highness.”

He looks around as he dances with you, certainly concerned about any assassins nearby or any chance to gather intel on Dooku. He’s keeping a respectful distance from you, however, not touching his body against yours. When you saw him days before, wearing that white and grey armor, carrying blasters in his holsters and hiding his face – his handsome face – under a helmet, you’d never believe he could have such posture, such presence. He doesn’t look like a soldier of the front lines now – he looks like a true prince.

“How is the life of a clone commander?” you ask, secretly wishing to hear more of his raspy voice, his heavy mandalorian accent

Wolffe looks back at you and his expression says in every way that he does not wish to have small talk. But you are the princess here. You call the shots.

“Not much. I have good men under my charge, and I work under the best general of the Republic.”

“Master Plo Koon?”

Wolffe nods, and for a very brief second you believe that his usual frown flips into a smile, but then he’s looking cranky again as he carefully spins you around in a semicircle.

“See the man in grey and silver?” he asks

You look where he discretly had nodded to, and you see a tall man in long grey garments, wearing a long silver cape over them. He seems to be in a mood worse than Wolffe’s, judging by his face.

“He’s the Umbaran of which Plo—“ he cuts himself off “ _General Koon_ mentioned. The one willing to court you in order to gain your brother’s support to the Separatists.”

You look back at Wolffe saying playfully:

“I’m not particularly interested on him.”

Yet again you believe that Wolffe might’ve smiled before he turns to you.

“Well, your highness, I do believe someone like you could definitely do better.”

“None of the men in this room would get anything from me if they were to court me.” You say, your heart thudding in your chest before you blurt out “Except you, commander.”

At that Wolffe almost misses his tempo, struggling to get back into the dance like nothing had happened. He lowers his eyes, averting them from you.

“You flatter me.” He says, clearly only dutifully

“I mean it.” You say, and you can feel your face scorching hot, but you can’t stop yourself from talking, not seing the way the grey cape over his shoulders flutters behind him, how his jet black hair is beautifully combed back and seeing the scar over his temple and cheek that gives him an appearance that is simultaneously ferocious and frail, dangerous and delicate. “And I think you feel the same for me.”

At that you can see Wolffe’s eyes widening only a little, as if he fought not to let his emotions show.

“Am I wrong?” you insist

Wolffe swallows down.

“You’re a princess.” He says like this closes the question

“Not what I asked.”

“What you asked can’t be answered without me trampling over a dozen regulations, the laws of your world and my own personal code.”

You’re still spinning around the room, lost in the dance, moving closer to the wide open glass doors that lead to the gardens.

“Well this is my home and I am the princess.” You say, hardening your tone “And I demand an answer… Wolffe.”

You purposefully dropped his military rank, for you have no obligation to use it other than politeness. Wolffe raises his beautiful uneven eyes to you at once, and for a second you believe to be seeing anger in them, but you’re wrong. It’s frustration.

“The thought of that Umbaran sleemo even daring to speak to you makes me want to kill him.”

The violence in his words startle you, and you flinch back while still more or less catching up with his steps. You’re almost outside now. The music grows fainter, dying away but you still dance nonetheless.

“So you’re jealous?” you ask, frowning

Wolffe grimaces to then nod. You two have gotten to the gardens, among the carefully trimmed bushes and the beautiful trees from which the blue flower petals cascade over you.

“I don’t expect you to return my feelings.” Wolffe says quietly as the music dies away the farther you stray from the palace, still dancing for some reason “I know my place. I’m a clone trooper of the Republic. You are the princess of a neutral world threatened by the Separatists.”

You’re about to answer his words when he lets go off you, taking a step back, breaking the dance and the moment. Only now you notice how cold it is outside, and how the music and the laughter are very distant, almost inaudible. Wolffe’s comlink rings, and a man’s voice come through it:

“Sir, we’re keeping an eye on everything. So far, the King and the Queen seem to be safe. We lost sight of the princess, but we saw you had her. Are you still with her?”

Wolffe reaches for his wristcuff – the hidden comlink – and presses it:

“I am. She’s safe.”

Wolffe bows his head, looking down to the cobblestone path you’ve begun to walk.

“I ask for your forgiveness your highness…” he seems to want to avoid your eyes more than anything “I should get back to work, and we should get back inside. Please, move ahead.”

You look back to the palace, to the distant laughter and the music…

“No.”

And you lift your skirt above your ankles, rushing deeper into the gardens. Wolffe groans:

“Your Highness!”

“Catch me if you can!”

Wolffe groans again, rushing after you as the first drops of rain begin to fall. You know you don’t even have a chance to stray too far – this is a man who fights daily in the Clone Wars, and you can barely walk one mile and a half without getting exhausted – so much for the idle life of the royalty. Wolffe runs past you and stops dead in front of you – he knows well enough not to grab you by your arm.

You laugh at his angry face, catching your breath, and it only makes his frown deepen as he rolls his eyes over. The rain is getting heavier now.

“This is not funny” he snaps “…your highness.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever found anything funny in your life, commander.” you say, laughing breathlessly as the rain gets worse and worse, making your hair – tied up in a bun – feel heavy and wet, as the raindrops run rivers over your face and into your eyes, and you blink them away. The rain washes over Wolffe’s face too, and you point a finger to a beautiful marble gazebo only a few steps ahed.

“There” you say over the loud rainfall “It’s closer than the palace.”

* * *

When you enter there, squeezing your bun, you see Wolffe looking around at the large round bed at the ground’s level and the many pillows over it.

“My brother and I used to come here as kids.” You point up at the glass ceiling “We could see the stars… This was long ago. Before the war, and all this mess. Do you like it, commander? Watching the stars?”

You begin to untangle the many pins off your wet hair. Wolffe seems to be checking the perimeter for any traps, as usual. You can put the clone trooper in a gala but you can’t get the war out of him.

“One time” He says absently, as if he’s not actually paying attention to how much he’s sharing “My men and I were trapped in an escape pod in outer space, adrift. I was certain they would leave us for dead, but Plo—General Koon believed we would be rescued.”

He looks up to the glass ceiling, the dim lights of the room making his features seem even more beautiful.

“That was” he continued “The only time I actually managed to look at the stars and just… Just see them. We weren’t in battle, there was nothing we could do, but when General Koon gave me hope, I could see, for the first time, how this universe can be…” he looks down to you, his eyes growing wide as he sees your hair down, a few fine strands wet and plastered over your face “…beautiful.”

The last word comes out in a whisper, and he walks up to you in broad strides. Is this how he walks in the battlefield?, you think, all confidence and certainty, no looking away, no second thoughts, no stuttering, just _firm_ and _strong_ and _sure_. And he stands before you, his eyes all over you like you’re a masterpiece and he’s gotten too close to admire the details and can’t see the full ensemble anymore, lost and enamored. He leans over, very slowly, his eyes wide open looking at you and waiting for a reaction.

You tilt your head back and let your lips fall open. He leans in closer. You see his eyes going half-closed… then he closes the distance between you, claiming your mouth into a soft, chaste kiss. It feels better than anything you’ve ever experienced, and it makes you peck at him in need when he pulls away, opening his eyes again. His face is flushed, and he mutters:

“This is wrong. I… I’m just a…” he trails off “and you’re…”

You grab at his jacket, pulling him closer.

“I don’t care.” You whisper

Wolffe looks deep into your eyes before leaning in to kiss you again, this time much more passionately. He pushes his tongue inside your mouth, grazing at your teeth and pressing it against your own tongue. You melt at the warmth, the wetness, the taste of him. You feel his large, calloused hands, hands of a soldier, cupping your face in the most delicate manner, contrasting with the voracity with which he kisses you now, barely stopping to breathe. He nibbles softly at your lower lip and you moan when he uses his body to push you against the nearest wall, pressing it against yours. He kisses your chin, your jaw, your neck, then he’s back at your lips, still pressing his body agains yours and you can feel you bigger than you he is, how muscular his arms are. It’s almost threatening, it feels like he could break you if he wished to.

But Wolffe’s kisses say that the last thing he would want is to break you. He wants to caress you, to give you all of him.

And you want to give him all of you as well. You break a kiss to then kiss his neck instead, feeling the smoothest hint of a stubble and licking at it. You’re a princess. You’re expected to become someone’s fiancée in a public ceremony before even daring to think about laying with them and yet here you are, licking a clone commander’s neck. The thought of transgression ignites you, and yes, you want to do everything and more with this man that can see into your soul, this rough soldier that seems to be full of _anger_ and _need_ and _love_ , and you want it all, to quench both his thirst and yours.

And as you lick his neck he presses against you even more, and you can feel something hard pressing against your thigh over your dress. _He’s hard for me. Hard for me._ You think in utter excitement, nibbling at his neck on purpose just to feel it twitch, and you’re not disappointed at all.

Wolffe grabs your hands, entwining his fingers between yours and pinning your hands over the wall, pushing against you. You spread your legs so he can draw even closer and he ruts against you, licking at your earlobe. You gasp at the touch and at the pressure of his erection on your crotch. Your clothes seem almost to itch, so bad you wish to get rid of them.

“Bed.” you moan between kisses “Let’s get to the bed.”

Wolffe slowly stops kissing you to then let go off your hands, pulling away from you. His lips are glistening with saliva and even a little sore from kissing you so hard, and his breathing is hard.

“We shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.” he says, even though he does it through gritted teeth, like he’s doing this just for show, just to say that he didn’t let it happen easily, that he fought.

You’re still leaning against the wall, one of the pearly straps of your dress almost falling off your shoulder. You’re also trying to catch your breath, and your face feels burning hot.

“I want you.”

Wolffe bites at his tongue, drawing a deep breath. He seems to be at war with himself.

“You’ll regret this. We shouldn’t.”

“I want you.” You repeat, walking up to him and wrapping your arms over his neck “Tell me you want me too.”

Wolffe looks into your eyes, pressing his lips in a thin line.

“Desperately.”

“Then take me.” You say, boldly than you thought you could sound

Wolffe hesitates for a second, he can say that for himself, but the next instant he lifts you off the ground as your high heeled pumps fall off your feet. The rain still rages outside as he’s carrying you to the bed and placing you down very slowly. You catch yourself wishing you were looking better instead of having damp, dripping hair over your shoulders and wet mascara under your eyes, but when you look up to Wolffe as he kneels down by your side, these thoughts die away. You’ve never had anybody look at you like that, like he can’t believe his eyes. Like he’s reverence holds him back from touching you.

But the hunger in his eyes takes over, and he touches you in every way he can.

He begins at once; toying with your dress’ straps, kissing you softly as he reaches for the lateral fastener, pulling it down so slowly you hear the sound echo in the room, a prelude of what is to come; he has you lie on your stomach and pulls the garment down your shoulders, kissing them all over, as your back all the way down your spine; You shiver to then sit up, reaching to unfasten the cape over his shoulder and unbutton his jacket, all of which proving to be very difficult as he runs his hands over your breasts over your lace semi sheer bra, squeezing, groping. You unzip and slide his shirt down his shoulder, admiring his muscular body with hunger in your eyes, your eyes mapping each scar and healed bruise as you lean over to kiss his chest, his stomach, his navel, his—

Wolffe pushes you back softly, reaching for your dress and tugging at it; you lift up your arms and he pulls it over your head, leaving you with nothing but your lace lingerie. Never breaking eye contact with you, he unfastens his kama, tossing it off the bed. He’s about to unzip his pants when you lean over to kiss him passionately, unable to stay away from him any longer. He kisses you back, hot and wet, his tonge sliding inside your mouth almost aggressively; it’s like the shy commander had been replaced by a man who’s fully aware of what he’s doing and doesn’t have a care in the world, and you feel like this is who Wolffe actually is.

He reaches for your back, effortlessly unhooking your bra and running his hands over your naked back, moaning softly into your lips like just the touch of your bare skin drove him crazy. While still kissing him, you tug your bra off your shoulders and toss it away without looking.

“Mmmh” you moan loudly into Wolffe’s mouth as he gropes at your breasts with wild abandon, pinching at your nipples and teasing them. You get on your knees and sit up over his lap, settling down until you can feel his hard cock press against you over his pants and your panties, and now he’s the one to moan. You grind against him, menacing and hungry, and he breaks the kiss to snarl against your shoulder, kissing it. You lick his saliva off your lips and bite your lip at the feeling of his rock-hard erection.

Wolffe grabs you effortlessly by your ribs, plopping you down on your back to then hook his thumbs over the waist of his pants and his underwear, pushing them down his waist. You see the protruding hipbones, the trimmed yet thick dark curls of hair, the thick, heavy, straining cock stiff against his belly, its tip smeared with precome. You lick your lips at the sight of it, and his cock twitches at his sight of you doing so. He lies down on the bed, kicking away his boots like they hurt him and kicking his pants down his ankles. You don’t let him get back up, throwing yourself over him instead to kiss his broad chest, pecking a trail down your stomach, licking into his navel. Wolffe growls, and it pleases you; you keep kissing him, lower and lower, his pubes tickling your nose until you kiss the tip of his cock.

Wolffe throws his head back and gasps, facing the stars out the glass dome as you wrap your hot lips around him, sucking at it. He literally growls now, just like an animal, a low, guttural sound leaving his parted lips. You suck at him, hollowing your cheeks and pulling him deeper into your mouth, your tongue sliding over his hard cock. Wolffe jerks his hips, poking the tip at your throat. Your eyes are watering and you pull out to then slowly suck him back in. You keep going back and forth and his cock twitches in your mouth, hot and heavy and pulsing. Wolffe keeps gasping and growling like he’s injured, his raw, broken sounds echoing in the room. He sits up at once, holding your head before you can continue. His hot, heavy cock falls off your open lips, lying stiff against his stomach, slick with your spit.

“Darling.” He calls you, sending protocol to hell, and it makes your heart skip a bit; he’s short of breath and his dark hair is no longer perfectly combed back and it makes him look even hotter “I want this to last, and if you keep doing that…”

You let out a breathy laugh and so does he, pulling you up to drop you down beside him. He then turns to kiss you passionately, running his hand over your stomach and over your panties, pulling them to the side and sliding a finger inside you. You moan into his mouth in surprise and he smirks against your lips, pulling away for a second.

“Want me this bad?” he asks in a whisper, and you feel your face hot, giving him a shaky smile as he works his finger deeper inside you

“I do. So much.”

He licks his lips, pausing to pull your panties down your legs and then pushing now two fingers inside you, watching you squirm and squeeze your eyes shut like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen. He hooks his fingers inside you, reaching for your sensitive spots until he pries a loud moan out of you, smiling to himself and rubbing there on circular motions. You gasp and writhe, but he holds you down in place by your hipbone, teasing your clit with his thumb until he manages to drive you over the edge, when you end up clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle out the literal scream of pleasure you let out.

Wolffe pulls his wet fingers out of you and licks them off with a triumphant smile. For some reason, this makes you hotter for him still, despite just having orgasmed. You struggle to catch your breath to then sit up and reach your arms over his shoulders, setting a knee on either side of his body. He goes stiff at this, hir breath hitching in his throat as you reach between you to grab his hard cock – he moans at that – and you position it in front of your soaking slit, sinking down on his cock, impaling yourself on it. Wolfe groans and huffs like he can’t believe the feeling of you, of your warmth enveloping him. You moan close to his ear and he wraps his arms around you, his chin over your shoulder rubbing that hint of a stubble against your skin. He pushes you even further down, pushing all of him inside you. You stay like that for a few instant, both of you breathing hard and feeling each other’s warmth; it’s not only about his hard cock twitching with pleasure inside you. It’s his arms wrapped around your waist, your own arms over his strong shoulders. It’s his smell, something that reminds you of the leafy smell of a wooded area and the refreshing feeling of walking freely wherever you wish to go. It’s the primal, deep sounds he makes, it’s the hollow cheeks and the proud nose and the lust in his eyes.

It’s not just the sex. This feels like love.

Then the moment of contemplation, in which you both seemed to see into each other’s hearts is gone, and all there’s left is the hunger for each other. You support yourself on your knees and pull back to then sink back at him. Wolffe helps you, pushing you up by your ribs to then pull you back the same way. He buries his face on your breasts, his hot breath against your skin. You moan in absolute pleasure, tugging on his hair between your fingers and he snarls, sucking at you so hard it might bruise; when you do bother looking down, you see the patchwork of hickeys all over you and Wolffe gives you that same victorious smile over his pride for branding you, marking you as his.

 _His_ , you think, jerking your hips down, _only his. I’m Wolffe’s._

Wolffe rolls you to the side, never pulling out to then get on top of you, supporting himself on his elbows and kissing you all over your neck, your shoulder, your mouth. You cup his face and he leans into your touch, his eyes looking sad for a moment.

“Does it bother you? The scar, the eye, the…?”

You plant a kiss over his scar, whispering:

“It’s beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.”

Wolffe claims your lips into a deep kiss, thrusting inside you and you whimper; he’s going _so_ deep and it feels _so_ good. You wrap your legs around his waist and he lets out a ragged, strained grunt, fucking you even harder now. You claw at his back, feeling the pleasure building inside of you, a mix of need and want so strong it hurt, and agonizing wish for release and Wolffe keeps thrusting inside you, his balls slamming against you every time he bottoms out in sharp jabs. You cross your legs over his lower back, pulling him to yourself and he reaches for your hands just like he’d done before, simultaneously holding them, his thumbs pressed onto your palms and his fingers pinning your wrists down on the mattress.

“I love you.” he gasps between shallow breaths “I love you.”

“I love you…too…” you whimper between your clenched teeth as he thrusts harder and harder

Wolffe lets such a loud grunt it echoes in the room, and he squeezes your wrists almost too hard before he stops, probably worried not to hurt you. It doesn’t matter. You know his fingers will be branded on your wrists for a while and the thought is exciting, but not as much as the feeling of him twitching and convulsing, spilling his hot seed inside you. At that, you curl your feet against the mattress, contracting like a coiled spring to then feel the blinding release washing over you; your screams are so loud Wolffe clamps his hand over your mouth, still letting you breathe properly and whispering:

“Shh… They might hear us like that…” he lets out a breathy, tired laugh “You’re so loud, my princess.”

My princess, you think as he pulls his half-hard, softening cock out of you and his semen leaks out of your still hot, pulsing hole. Wolffe collapses beside you, still trying to catch his breath. You can see now the marks your nails left on his shoulder and chest. His back must be a mess too. You look down to yourself, to the hickeys and bite marks on your chest and shoulders, and the clear finger shapes around your wrists. You see that Wolffe looks at you with concern.

“Are you… Do you hurt anywhere?...”

“No.” you shake your head “I’m fine, love.”

Wolffe looks at you, beautiful even now as his hair is messy and he seems so tired. He reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m glad… love.” He seems to like the sound of it, because you can feel him smiling against your face “We should get back to the gala, or they’ll notice I disappeared with their princess.”

Wolffe’s comlink rings, and no matter how bad you wish you could just cuddle with him under the stars, you know you have to go. You cuddle up closer to him, nuzzling against his chest.

“Not their princess. Yours. No one else’s.”

When Wolffe gives you a genuine smile and kisses the tip of your nose, you don’t think you can possibly feel happier.


End file.
